The Time Is Now
by Matou-kun
Summary: "Do you have enough hustle in stock, King of Heroes?"
1. Chapter 1

Hidden from the rest of the world behind snowy mountains, nestled in the center of a deadly forest and covered in an eternal white blanket, lied an old castle. Inside lived the Einzberns, a magus family many generations old who sought—like all magi of any considerable note—a way to reach the Root, the "ultimate" force that exists outside of time and space, and the source of everything that once was, currently is, and shall be. Countless have tried and failed, using inferior methods to open a pathway to it, but, the Einzberns, they were different.

For the past three hundred years, they had conducted a ritual known as the Holy Grail War to forcibly break open the invisible barrier between the World and the Root, of which four had been attempted thus far and four times had they failed to succeed.

The First was fought without any major outcome, the participants having cared more about their statuses in the world than—what was seen at the time—a frivolous attempt to claim their desires, quarrelling pediously amongst themselves without a winner. During the Second, a mass murdering spree by a force unknown killed all those involved and nobody won anything. In the Third, due to being right in the midst of a war that raged across all lands in the known world, nationalistic feelings were more pronounced; the result being, and not unlike the Second, nearly everyone who took having perished. After the first three, changes to the rules were made, creating the ritual used in the Fourth. Yet, despite these changes there was still bloodshed and unnecessary loss of life and limb.

From those failures, arose the ritual as it was now known. Fourteen were chosen in total, seven Masters and seven Servants, each with a reason to fight. There were one Master and one Servant to a team, and, in pairs, would these chosen few fight to the death, for their chance to claim that which was once unattainable. What, once, was nothing more than fantasy, now made into a reality; the Holy Grail itself.

Omnipotent, able to grant whatever wish the winner of the War granted, only one pair could have such an opportunity and, as for whom may qualify, the only absolute was that one magus from each of the three founding families—the Einzberns, the Matous, and the Tohsakas—would be chosen as Masters almost immediately. The other four were the best fits to fill in vacant slots, selected by the Grail itself, either years in advance or right before the War was to start. Each Master, regardless of who they are, would be contracted with a Servant of either they own choosing or, again, what the Grail perceived as the most viable match.

The Servants themselves were those figures throughout history whom were renowned for their feats, or feared because of their deeds.

For those Masters who wanted a specific Servant in order to guarantee their success in the war and domination of the other participants, they would have to offer an appropriate catalyst—one attached to that Servant's life—and, for the Einzberns, in preparation for the Fifth War, they had acquired a most valuable prize from the ruins of Greece. That is, to say, the catalyst that was sure to finally win them the Grail.

And, today, one the eve of the Fifth War's beginning, was the time for their chosen Master, bred specifically for the purpose, Illyasviel von Einzbern, to summon the one known as the Greatest Hero in all the Known World.

Crossing one short leg over the other, Illya shifted in the lavish wooden chair much too big for her small frame, thinking of what kind of person he was like. Her body sinking into the chair's red-velvet cushions, she furrowed her brow and glared contemptuously at the two, white-haired, red-eyed women who had introduced themselves as her caretakers just mere moments before.

Just the same as with these two disposable dolls, in the end, who he was and what he was like didn't matter. They and he were to be her tools, nothing more, and thus, she scoffed at their pleasantries, "Pointless. All of you are the same, so I could care less what your names are. The catalyst, is it ready?"

The better functioning of the two, the first, bowed, "Yes. The preparations are all set."

"So, then, where is the Servant?"

Neither responded.

"Well?"

They looked at one another, before parting to either side. The first spoke again, "It would be best if we showed you in person, milady."

"Oh?" Illya hopped from her chair. "Lead the way, then."

* * *

They walked for a time before coming to a vast chamber sectioned off from the rest of the castle—what once had been a rarely used storage area—and, in its center, was the incantation circle the two had used to summon her Servant.

Illya stared at it, then to the dazzlingly muscular figure who stood within, and fell to the floor in shock. "Wha… what the heck is this?!"

Eyes wide with awe as she looked upon every inch of his physique from his perfect pecs to bulging thighs, she lifted a finger and pointed, demanding what the meaning of this was. Her Servant… her Servant wasn't… this wasn't…

"We're very sorry, milady, but there was problem with the catalyst and—"

… or… was it?

"N-no! This is fine!" she snapped, slowly rising back to her feet as her Servant came to tower over her. She looked him up and down. Yes, there was no need to be alarmed. For, after all, there was no mistaking that body chiseled straight from stone, like those Greek sculptures millennia ago. This was he, the one and only Herkales, son of the Gods and the mightiest slayer of monsters to have ever lived. Thus, she put herself in check and lifted her head high to stare into his magnificently blue eyes, addressing the two behind her. "You have done well. Now, leave us."

"As you say, milady," the first said, both of them bowing and obeying her command.

Now alone with her Servant, Illya told him to approach so that she may judge him more closely. As he did, she could feel the heat radiating from his glistening form with each quaking, and, satisfied, ordered that he plead himself to her, to complete their contract so that their union as Master and Servant might be officially cemented.

"What is your name?" she asked of the him, as he knelt and lowered his head.

"My name…"

… his name…

"... is John Cena."

… was John Cena.

…

Wait. What did he just s—

* * *

 **Chapter end.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Next chapter preview:**

"What can you do?"

"This," Berserker slowly raised his hand over his face. " **You can't hit...** " Waved. " **What you can't see!** " And _disappeared._

"Woah! So... Wh... what else can you do...?"

"Oh, well," he re-appeared, rubbing the back of his head, "that's it."

Illya put her head in her hands in disparity.

Just what the f—

* * *

 **preview end.**


End file.
